


Hectocotylus

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cursed Dean, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Somnophilia, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: It’s freaky and weird and Dean probably deserves it for pissing off a witch but still.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dubcon warning because Sam is unable to consent at first; he does give his consent later.

It’s freaky and weird and Dean probably deserves it for pissing off a witch but  _ still _ . 

 

“You don’t mess with a guy’s junk, man. This is just wrong on so many levels.” 

 

Sam flicks the blinker on, rolling his eyes as he waits to make the left hand turn into the motel parking lot. “You’re really not supposed to mess with a witch’s altar either, but here you are.” 

 

With a dramatic sigh, Dean slumps back against the seat. “No sympathy.” 

 

“Not really. Just . . . keep it in your pants, huh?” 

 

With a grin, Dean waggles his brows at his brother. “What’s the matter, Sammy? I thought you were the adventurous one between us. Don’t tell me you never wanted to try a little seafood.” 

 

“You’re gross.” The car door slams as Sam heads into the office to get them a room. Dean shifts uncomfortably as he waits, the weighty warmth of his . . . junk shifting between his thighs. He’s trying to play it light; they’ll dig into the lore, and hopefully get him fixed up soon, but - for now - he’s a little freaked out. And a little turned on. 

 

Which Sam doesn’t fail to notice when he gets back in the car. 

 

“Jesus. You’ve really been watching too much of that hentai crap you like.” 

 

“Sorry man. It’s  just noticeable, you know?” Dean gestures to his crotch, where an obscene bulge is tenting his jeans. “I’m like . . . I’m not even all the way hard.” 

 

Sam’s eyebrows go up, and the tiny blush that rises on his face doesn’t escape Dean’s notice. 

 

“Always were a size queen, Sammy.” 

 

“Shut up. If you think I’m coming anywhere near that thing, you’ve lost your damn mind.” 

 

Dean’s not joking as much when he has to try to waddle from the car to the motel room, but Sam is kind enough to bring in their bags rather than making Dean go back out for his own. There’s a loose pair of shorts that Dean changes into as soon as the door’s shut, studiously ignoring the slight dampness of his boxers as he pulls the shorts up over them. He lounges on the bed with a few of their lore books from the trunk while Sam trawls the internet; it feels a little ridiculous, how wide he has to keep his legs spread to keep from squishing the girth between his thighs, a little lascivious, but he has no choice. 

 

“Dude, sit still,” Sam grouses at one point. Dean had shifted, trying to settle with the warm, sticky length more comfortably, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t ignore it. 

 

“You try sitting normally with this thing between your legs,” Dean mumbles right back. He winds up sitting cross legged, the bizarre feeling of his dick actually laying on the bed only slightly less distracting, but he doesn’t need to move around as much, so he counts it as a win. 

 

They’ve turned up nothing but a few simple spells that have done nothing to solve Dean’s . . . problem by the time they’re ready to for sleep. Calls and go out to their various contacts, in the hope that someone has at least come across something similar; anything that could help point them in the right direction for a cure, or at least let them know the curse is temporary would be helpful at this point. 

 

Sam, of course, balks at being spooned when it’s time for lights out, so Dean gives in and lets his brother wrap long arms around him when they settle themselves into bed. Heat soaks from Sam into Dean, and - like always - being warm tugs Dean into sleep. 

 

He wakes with a start, struggling in his brother’s stranglehold, Sam’s voice loud in his ear. 

 

“Jesus fucking Christ Dean wake - Ah- _ ahh _ .” 

 

Something warm and snug is around the tip of Dean’s cock, the tip of his God damned  _ tentacle _ and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The thing has snaked its way out of his boxers, evidently long enough to curl around their hips and slide into Sam’s boxers. It moves like it has a mind of its own, wiggling just a little deeper even as Dean tries to get it to pull back. 

 

He’s never taken Sam dry, never taken him without prep, and he can feel just how  _ tight _ Sam is around the faintly-damp tip. The tentacle - there’s no other word for it, really - oozes a little as Dean thinks it, slick seeping out of him and into Sam, easing the press if it as it edges deeper. 

 

“ _ Dean _ .” 

 

“Shit, Sam, I can’t, it won’t let me pull out, just -” Dean shoves Sam back a little, and Sam gets the message. He rolls back, squishing the tentacle some before it slides out and away, slipping back toward Dean’s crotch. Dean watches as Sam scrambles out of bed and across the room; flicking on the bedside lamp reveals that Sam looks a lot more aroused than perturbed, and the tentacle coiling up from Dean’s lap undulates with interest. 

 

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, dark eyes focused on Dean’s new appendage. His mouth is parted, softly pink, and his cheeks are bright with color. There’s the tiniest bit of tentacle slick shining along the curve of his hip, sticking his boxers wetly to his side where the thing had curled around him to reach his hole. 

 

“Not gonna hurt you, Sam.” Dean doesn’t know why he says it; Sam knows, has always known that Dean’s not going to hurt him. Another feeling creeps up the back of his brain then. Dean focuses on it, latches onto it and grips it tight; he can sense want, need, and he pulls it back under his will. The tentacle draws back a bit more, curling up and laying docilely between Dean’s legs. “C’mere.” 

 

“You - Are you sure you can control that thing?” Sam looks wary even as he steps closer, want and curiosity getting the best of him. His knees touch the bed and Dean takes a deep breath, focusing his will on the tentacle. It creeps slowly across the mattress, inching upward so it can brush against Sam’s dick through his boxers. More wetness gets left behind, soaking the fabric dark and leaving it shiny over twitching little-brother dick. 

 

“Seems like. Didn’t meant to wake you up like that, though. It’s . . . almost got a mind of it’s own, but I can make it listen.” In his head, Dean squeezes the presence of the tentacle, satisfied when it lets him do so without a fight. 

 

“Do,” Sam chokes a little on the words, ducking his head a little before he can go on. “Do you want - I mean-” 

 

With a gentle push of his mind, Dean gets the tentacle to flick over Sam’s cock, grinning when his brother sucks in a sharp breath. “Come here.” 

 

Pausing for a moment to strip off his now-wet boxers, Sam crawls across the bed. Dean’s tentacle brushes along his thighs, curling up behind him and helping to guide him into Dean’s lap. The more Dean works on controlling, the more natural it feels, and the sensation of Sam’s skin and the rasp of his hair dragging along the tentacle makes Dean shudder. 

 

Sam settles into his brother arms, bringing their mouths together. He’s a warm weight on top of Dean, and there’s no resisting gripping those perfect hips, thumbing over lines of muscle and bone. 

 

“You can say no,” Dean breathes when Sam pulls away just enough to let them breathe. 

 

“Just do it,” Sam breathes back, nudging his hips back against the teasing length of the tentacle. 

 

Gently, Dean pushes the wet tip back inside his brother, sliding it in just to hear the soft sound Sam makes. It only fits about halfway before the girth gets to be more than what Sam is used to, and he clenches tightly around what’s already inside him. 

 

“Jesus, D-Dean, hang on.” Dropping his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, Sam pants as his hole flutters around the thick tentacle holding him open. It twitches as Dean struggles to hold still, and he can feel the smoothness and heat of Sam’s insides along the sensitive pads of the suckers on the underside of his once-dick. 

 

“Don’t gotta take it all, Sammy.” 

 

Sam makes a sound of dissent and starts to shift his hips, ever the stubborn little brother. Slow, small rocking motions at first until he gets his knees under him to lift up and drop back down on his brother’s tentacle. Dean can only watch and grit his teeth as Sam works more and more of the thick tentacle into himself, sweat shining on his skin from the effort. Eventually, Sam’s ass rests on Dean’s thighs, as much of Dean’s tentacle dick tucked in him as he can get in this position. 

 

“Christ, Sammy.” Dean dips fingers down between Sam’s cheeks, unable to resist the urge to feel how open his brother’s hole is. It spasms at the touch, hot and stretched and Dean can imagine just how red and used it must look. “Fuck. Are you okay?” 

 

“Yeah. Need a minute.” 

 

It’s easy for Dean to feel when Sam finally relaxes. He sinks down the tiniest bit more and whimpers, but doesn’t tighten back up. Gingerly, Dean flexes the tentacle and the brothers shudder in unison. They hardly have to move for Dean to fuck Sam; the tentacle draws out and shoves back in, girthy and sensitive enough that they’re both left moaning and clinging to one another. 

 

Dean’s orgasm curls up between his legs, tight and demanding and he has a moment of panic because he has no idea how he’s meant to come like this, but he can’t bring himself to stop now. With a choked sound, Sam comes between them, clinging to Dean’s shoulders and clawing at his back just enough to tip Dean over the edge. Hot liquid spurts inside Sam around Dean’s tentacle, so thick and fast that it startles a yelp out of Sam and spills out onto the covers between Dean’s thighs. 

 

Grabbing Sam by the hips is the only way for Dean to keep Sam from trying to scramble out of his lap and potentially injuring them both quite painfully by ripping the tentacle out of his body. Sam seems to realize this, too, as he lets Dean tug him back in and gently withdraw the tentacle from his hole. More of the liquid - more of the  _ come _ \- floods out onto the bed, leaving the covers hopelessly soaked and sticky-wet beneath them. Sam rolls off of Dean’s lap and scoots over, apparently content to lay spread-legged as come continues to seep out of him, earning him a judging look from Dean. 

 

“Fuck off, man. This is your jizz and this bed is already ruined.” 

 

“Whatever. You can stay there and soak in it if you want, I’m gonna go wash this shit off.” Dean smirks a little to himself when he hears Sam huff and roll out of bed to follow behind him to the bathroom. The motel shower really isn’t big enough for them both, but this isn’t their first time sharing; after a brief wet-down of his front, Dean lets Sam take the spot under the shower head. Come swirls between their feet and down the drain, and Sam - with bright spots of pink in his cheeks - fingers more out of himself while the water runs. 

 

“You’re keeping that thing to yourself after this,” he grumbles. “This is fucking ridiculous.” 

 

“Because you hated that so much,” Dean quips back. He soaps up and Sam switches him long enough to wash off the last of the gunk sticking to his skin. No more have the last of the suds slid away from him than Dean’s suddenly holding his own, human dick. “Well, guess that takes care of that.” 

 

Sam presses up behind him, looking over Dean’s shoulder. “You’re still bottoming for like, a week, dude.” 

 

Dean elbows his brother and laughs. “Fine, princess. Whatever you say.” 


End file.
